Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
by antmuzak
Summary: Modern GOT AU. British Parliment just got sexy, scandalous, and ridiculously dramatic. Despite their completely different situations, both Architecture student Sansa Stark, and child of an ex-Prime Minister Daenerys Targaryen are lost and looking for love, revenge, and answers. Mostly Sansan, Jorah/Dany, Gendry/Arya, but lots of other pairings too. Please read and review!
1. This is Chapter One

**Come Only Baby, This Is Not the End of the World**

 **This is Chapter One**

 **A/N: Hello everyone! This is my attempt at a modern Game of Thrones. It takes place in modern-day London, partly in parliament and partly in a university and high school. A lot of the plot will be the same, only modernized and…less death of course. The main ships will be Sansa/Sandor, Dany/Jorah, Arya/Gendry, Jon/Ygritte, Jaime/Brienne, and Shae/Tyrion but there will be other ships (both canon and fanon) so look forward to those! Some characters will be aged up or down or might look more like their book or show counterpart. Oh yeah, this is rated M just to be safe because it's GOT and there's some weird shit. Like Dany/Viserys scenes are weird, okay? Weird. Anyway, here it goes:**

 _Sansa_

"You're not seriously going to wear that to meet the Baratheons, are you?" Sansa Stark grimaced as she took a look at her younger sister. Arya had just come in from a game of football with her best friend Mycah (the butcher's boy). Her jersey was dark, with the Stark family emblem of a wolf in the centre, and the number three on the back. Three…for the third child in the Stark family. Well, the third child that mattered, anyway. It was a disgusting piece of clothing, Sansa thought.

"I don't get what the big fucking deal is," Arya shrugged and sank into her bed, "it's not like they're royalty."

There was a visible division between Arya's side of the room and Sansa's. Arya's walls were adorned with posters of bands like Black Sabbath and Alice Cooper. Her comforter was a deep, Lannister-red and every article of clothing that she owned was on the floor. Sansa's side of the room was a sharp contrast. The only thing on her walls was a vintage print of some lemons she'd found at a flea market. Her comforter was a pale pink, and her clothing was stored in her antique chest of drawers, which she'd painted herself. On her bedside table, there was a little yellow lamp and a framed photograph.

"They're practically royal," Sansa argued, "Robert Baratheon is the _Prime Minister_ Arya!"

Arya threw one of her fuzzy purple throw pillows at her sister. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'll change! Jesus fucking….oh Sansa…?"

"What?"

"You going to keep that photo of Joffrey out beside your bed?"

Sansa flushed, grabbed the photo, and clutched it to her chest.

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't be prudent to have Myrcella see a photo of her brother on my bedside table…"

She hoped Arya didn't realize just how embarrassed she was. It would be less than _prudent_. Sansa wanted Joffrey to see her as a calm, confident, classy young woman. They hadn't seen each other since last summer when they'd stayed in London, and she didn't want him thinking she was the same lovestruck teenager that she'd been then. No, Sansa was eighteen now. And she was prepared to charm both Joffrey and his family.

"That priss is _not_ going to be sharing our room, is she?" Arya had stripped her jersey off and was walking around the room bare-chested.

"Arya really…wear a bra. And yes, where else to you expect her to stay? We only have one guest room and Mother and Father will be staying in it."

Arya picked an article of clothing off the floor and sniffed it. Dissatisfied, she dropped it back down.

"Jesus. So Robert and that bitch Cersei are going to be staying in our parents' room? Isn't that a little creepy?"

"It's not creepy, Arya. The Prime Minister of England is staying at our place. Now, we live in a house that only has five bedrooms, and three and a half bathrooms. I expect we'll have to try our best to impress."

"But Robert and dad have been friends since they were kids. And that fat bastard isn't exactly in a position to judge. I mean doesn't he sleep with a new woman every day? That's what they say, anyway…"

Sansa grew tired of the subject. She tugged open their shared closet, pulled out the laundry hamper and collected all of Arya's clothing off the floor.

"I would have liked to vacuum the carpets too, but we hardly had any notice…," she muttered to herself.

"I get that you have like…a total boner for Joffrey, but did you really have to take down your drawings?"

Arya was pointing to the empty space on Sansa's walls. She used to hang her sketches up there: drawings of their home, the Winter River bridge, structural breakdowns of the Tower of London she'd drawn during heir last trip to London, etc. But since hearing about the impending visit of the the Baratheons, Sansa had stowed away her architectural ambitions. They were in her desk drawer. She tossed her photo of Joffrey in there too.

"It's nothing," Sansa dismissed Arya, "now what are you going to wear? They'll be here in forty minutes. And we still have to make your bed, and set up the extra mattress for Myrcella, and-,"

"Calm your tits!" Arya growled.

"I wish you'd let me dress you in something of mine," Sansa said, "I know it's not your style, but you don't own anything…formal. Or at least decent."

"Thanks a lot," Arya rolled her eyes, "and I'll remind you that I'm like a half a metre shorter than you, and I actually have hips." Arya smacked this part of her anatomy.

There was a knock on the door and it creaked open to reveal their mother. Arya had her arms sheepishly wrapped around her chest.

"Not dressed yet?!" Their was an edge to Catelyn Stark's voice but she was still calm. Sansa knew she wouldn't be too happy to host the Baratheons, but what else could she do?

"I would be but I was trying to help Arya!" Sansa pouted. Her bickers with Arya always brought out the child in her.

"Well you're lucky I thought ahead. I had Osha do a load of her laundry this morning. It's probably downstairs with her. Arya, go shower at once. You smell like a football match, and Sansa you go pick her an outfit. Hurry up, I've just heard that Jaime and Tyrion will be coming with them, Lord knows why…"

Sansa didn't stay to listen to her mother's anxious mutters. She stormed out of her room, slamming the door shut. It was typical that she was sent to do Arya's chores, like a common maid. When she and Joffrey married, surely no one would treat her this way. But she couldn't get ahead of herself.

Still dressed in her dusty pink housecoat, she made her way down the spiral staircase to the main level of the house.

"Good morning, my sweet," a distracted Ned Stark kissed his daughter on her head as he passed by in a hurry. Sansa didn't bother to mention it was nearly 1 PM and well past the time for "good morning"s.

In the dining room, Osha was spraying down the windows. Their nanny and maid was a wild-looking woman. She had thick eyebrows, which Brooke Shields could envy, if only Osha tamed them. She had dark eyes and thick, tangled hair which she usually just wore in a pony tail. She had a Sporty-Spice body, but she ruined it by wearing plain T-shirts and ugly cutoffs. She was nearly twenty three, but she had the look of an older woman. How Sansa longed to give her a makeover…oh, right…Sansa snapped back into reality.

"Have you seen Arya's laundry?" Sansa asked.

"Yeah, Theon's got it in my my room," she didn't even turn to look at Sansa as she finished wiping down the window.

Sansa set off through the kitchen, where her older brother Robb was helping Bran to tie his first tie. Robb was two years Sansa's senior, and studying law at the local college. He had dark auburn curls, similar to Sansa's and their mother's. He grinned with pride as he took one last look at his handy work. Bran would be fourteen next month. He was a quiet boy, uninterested in the excitement of the day, but not nearly as rebellious as Arya.

Through the kitchen, to the left, and right next to the sliding glass doors which lead to the backyard, was a little room where Osha slept. There was nothing on her walls except for a Scottish flag, as if to remind the Stark family that she was homesick. There was also a pile of folded laundry on her bed. Sansa began to sift through it, looking for something right for Arya. She decided on a pair of red skinny jeans and a flowy black top with cut outs. It was Arya's style, but a little more dressed up than her usual ensembles. Just as she turned to leave, Theon slipped into the room.

Theon Greyjoy: now there was an interesting story. He'd been best friends with Robb in primary school, but his parents were abusive so he and his sister Yara had been picked up by social services. Yara went to go live in a girl's home, but Theon had stayed on with the Stark family, promising to serve them. He worked as a footman, and also helped Yara with the cleaning duties. He was a year older than Robb, in his final year of studies as a paralegal. The idea was that both Robb and Theon, who were as close as brothers, would shadow their father Ned. Theon had always had a crush on Sansa.

"Hullo," he gave an little awkward wave as though they were strangers who'd run into each other on the street.

"H-Hey," Sansa smiled meekly, eyeing the door.

"Oh, uh, Osha and I were going to share a room, seeing as my room…or the guest room, really, is being occupied by your parents. Of course now Jaime and Tyrion are coming so I guess we're going to go stay at my sister's place, and your parents will stay in here."

Sansa imagined her parents squishing into Osha's single bed, and felt bad. But there wasn't much else to do. Arya hadn't been far off about royalty visiting them. This would be the Stark's family touch with greatness, and they _couldn't_ afford to screw it up.

"Got to go!" Sansa squeaked and ran past Theon and back up the stairs. Luckily, Arya was out of the shower, lounging on her bed and reading a _Rolling Stone_ magazine with the Arctic Monkeys on the cover. Sansa knew who they were because she fancied the lead singer a bit, although she'd never tell Arya.

Sansa threw Arya's clothes at her and got dressed herself. She wore a nude-colour pleated skirt that was thin and summery, and rested mid-calf. Her top was a white blouse with small black polka dots and she wore her a charm bracelet on her wrist. She didn't want to be too fancy. She wanted to save her best outfit for tomorrow night, when they'd have their big dinner. If things went well, she hoped Joffrey might ask her be his girlfriend. Maybe they'd even share their first kiss. The peck on the cheek he was forced to give her in greeting didn't count.

Sansa threw her hair up into a tight bun and took a hairbrush in hand. She sat down on Arya's bed, pulled her sister in close and tugged at her dark, thick hair until it looked neat enough. She then braided it in a plait down her back.

"Wish I could just chop it all off," Arya grunted. Sansa did not dignify this with a response.

"Come on, let's head downstairs. They'll be here any moment."

 _Daenerys_

"Is this really the right move, Viserys?" Dany muttered. She had stepped out of the bath and was wearing only two bathtowels: one wrapped tightly around her figure, and the other holding up her silver-blonde hair, "I mean it's 2017, arranged marriages seem a little archaic."

"How very racist of you," Dany's brother practically purred. He was looking in the mirror, admiring his own long, luscious hair, "in other cultures, such as….whatever Drogo's culture is, these things are quite common, I'm sure."

"Aren't you the racist one for assuming that?" Dany pointed out, cautiously. Her brother seemed to be in a good mood, but she didn't want to push his limits. She didn't want to wake the dragon.

Viserys clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and turned to his sister.

"Viserys!" Dany blushed, covering herself with her towel once more, "I was going to get changed. You know, this Drogo guy will be arriving soon and I have no idea what to wear."

"I don't know why you make such a big deal out of it," Viserys shrugged, "it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Dany blushed nonetheless, and furiously looked through the outfits she'd selected. She didn't have a lot. Dany and her brother had lived mostly on the favours and gifts of others; they didn't posses much save for their ambition to take back what was rightfully theirs: the run of the country. They were currently staying at a hotel in Spain. It was a beautiful country, but Dany wished she could return to England. It had been so long. The hospitality of others had been nice, but she was nineteen years old now, and wanted to start a life of her own. If marrying a military hero from another country was her ticket to success, then so be it.

"If I marry Drogo, we'll move back to London, yes?" Dany said, holding up a spring-green dress and admiring it.

"Yes, that's the plan, my sweet sister. We get you back to England with a piece of military arm-candy by your side, and we'll win our place back in the people's hearts. Oh the press will love that. They _love_ an interracial couple. Especially when the man's won as many battles as Count Drogo, or whatever his title is."

Dany gave her brother a stern look. His insolence was unbearable at times, but she didn't know what she'd do without him. She'd be lost without his guidance, that was for sure. Dany didn't really have a sense of identity. She felt like a ghost sometimes, floating from one place to another. She didn't care. She just wanted to return home. Maybe having a place to herself would help her feel like herself again, whoever she was…Maybe she and Drogo could be happy together.

As though he could read his sister's mind, Viserys snatched the green dress out of Dany's hands and threw it onto the chair beside the hotel television. The TV was muted, but a news broadcast was playing. Someone was being interviewed. A woman with red hair and tears in her eyes.

"You can't go dressing like some ugly old twat," Viserys warned her, "try this."

He passed her a tight-fitting number, the colour of lavender. He turned his back to her while she slipped into it. She had to tug it up, hoping it was secure around her breasts. It certainly hugged her butt.

"Did you see what's on TV? Some English bloke's died." Viserys grabbed the remote and turned the volume on. He and Dany sat next to each other on the edge of the bed. While Viserys turned up the volume, he took a look at his younger sister.

"Wow. You look hot."

"Thanks. I guess."

 _Jon_

"Robert, seems you've gotten fat," Ned chuckled as he embraced his old friend. Jon saw genuine happiness in his father's face, but there were lines of worry there too. He couldn't blame him. A last minute visit from the Prime Minister of England certainly was a burden. Especially when his serpent wife brought along half her family tree.

Cersei Lannister was a slender woman with long, golden hair and a thin-lipped smile. There was no warmth in her eyes. She wore a deep-red pantsuit. Very fashionable. Or at least Jon thought it must be. After all, Cersei did run the UK's number one fashion magazine: _The Lion's Mane_. Cersei gave Catelyn a quick kiss on both cheeks and shook her hand. Catelyn looked almost drab next to the Lannister woman. She was only wearing a deep green dress; almost casual with a grey wool cardigan thrown over it.

"I have indeed," Robert had a hollow chuckle. Not as jolly as he usually was. "But so have you, my friend. Now look, it's the lovely Catelyn. Doesn't she look stunning, my wife?"

Cersei's smile seemed to cause her pain. "I must say, I could never look so wonderful without makeup. It's very… _organic_."

Jon almost had to wince at the level of passive aggressiveness. He wished he could be down in his room, practicing guitar, instead of standing out in the foyer and listening to all these fake niceties. It seemed like he was only a part of the Stark family when it was convenient for Catelyn. This must have been one of those times. There was strength in numbers. The more wolves in the pack, the less likely the lions were to attack.

"And Robb! I hardly recognized you, lad! You've got to be twenty years old now! An old man like me and your father! Of course, the grey hairs won't show up just yet." Robert patted Robb on the back. When the Prime Minister had turned his attention to Sansa, Robb shared a stupid grin with Jon. He gladly returned it.

"And my, you get prettier every time I see you, Sansa." Cersei agreed. Sansa simpered. Jon held back an urge to roll his eyes, especially when he saw that piece of shit Joffrey wink at Sansa. What did a smart girl like Sansa see in him?

"Arya, no tattoos yet I see?"

"Robert, please don't give her any suggestions," Ned urged. Arya grinned.

"Bran, good lad," Robert shook his hand, "you'll be heading into secondary school now, I imagine."

"Yes sir."

"Ah well it's a good thing you've got a big brain in your head. Men like me don't have big brains, but we sure have big…" he shared a coy look with Cersei, "stomachs. Aye, big stomachs."

Jon's father looked as though he might be ill, and his wife Catelyn wasn't doing well either. Robert Baratheon, the Prime Minister of this great country, was a clown.

After ruffling little Rickon's hair, they arrived at Jon. The last on everybody's list. The bastard son. Sometimes even Theon was more a part of the Stark family than Jon was. Of course, Theon wasn't the product of adultery.

"Jon. And what have you been up to?" Robert asked. Cersei stared him down.

"Well I've been mostly working on my music, sir. But I've been considering going into the military."

Catelyn and Jon's father gave him a sharp, disapproving look.

"Have you?" There was a long silence, "Good lad."

"Well," Cersei said, feigning pleasantness, "I think we've kept the family captive for long enough. Jaime and Tyrion are on their way, along with our bodyguard, Sandor. But they won't need such a…royal reception. I'm sure Robert and I would like to retire to our room for a while."

Jon thought she spoke just like a queen. Kind of like how Sansa spoke.

Ned nodded at Jon, giving him permission to "retire" to his own room. Jon thundered down the stairs into the basement. He and Robb shared a room. Similar to how Arya and Sansa decorated their rooms, Robb and Jon had their own tastes. Robb liked his football posters, and one of Victoria Beckham modelling underwear. Jon had posters of Joy Division and The Cure.

He sat himself down on his bed, which was closest to the window, and settled his electric bass guitar on his lap. He began to strum a few simple chords when he heard voices outside. His fingers lifted from the strings, hovering in anticipation.

"Cersei won't like this, I'm sure". It was Jon's father speaking.

"Fuck what that woman thinks. God, the things I do for her. But nothing's going to stop me from paying my respects to the dead. I wouldn't do that to Lyanna. Never." Robert spoke gruffly.

Jon sighed and shook his head. Lynna Stark, his late aunt. He'd never met her, but according to Robert she might as well have been an angel. He preferred the dead woman to his own wife, although Jon couldn't blame him. It wasn't surprising that he wanted to spend his first moments at Winterfell Hall visiting the grave of the woman he'd loved. Jon returned to strumming.

After some time, the dialogue opened back up.

"You know why I'm here then, Ned?"

"Oh. Aye. I got the text this morning. Catelyn knows. The kids don't."

"Can you believe it? Jon Arryn…dead."

This time Jon set down his guitar, and took his phone out of his back pocket. He quickly Googled "Jon Arryn". He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The results were true. BBC had the article on its front page. The Deputy Prime Minister had died in his sleep the night before.

"I know. Seems like only yesterday he was raising the two of us, teaching us to wrestle, to drink, to be leaders. Making us the men we were."

Jon heard Robert spit on the grass.

"What great men we are. I'm an old fat man married to a bitch, with a royal prick for a son. Trying to keep this country from running into the ground. I don't know what I'll do without Jon."

"You'll make it."

There was a long silence, which Jon tried to read. It was nearly impossible without seeing their faces.

"What is that look, then?" Ned asked.

"You know what it's about, you bastard."

"I can't think of any better man for the job, Ned."

Jon's eyebrows arched. He placed his guitar back on its stand and knelt on his knees on his bed. He pushed his black curtains aside slightly, so he could get a view of the two men. Standing a distance from the window, he saw their figures in full.

"My place is here, Robert. I'm not going to London. The children—,"

"Can come with you! For God's sakes Ned. I'm not asking you for some stupid favour like when were kids. I'm not asking you to be my wingman. I'm asking you to be my _deputy._ If you refuse, I don't know what I'll do."

Ned didn't speak. Jon saw him run a hand across his face in distress.

"Alright, so you can't just up and leave Winterfell on its own. I get that. Leave Robb where he is. He and Theon are well off in college and they can run the place while you're gone. Take Sansa with you. I have contacts at Westros University, she could easily get a place there. Or Cersei could get her an internship at _The Lion's Mane._ And it's not as though you can't come back and visit now and then. You won't be chained to parliament. And bring the troubled ones with you too, why don't you?"

"The troubled ones?"

"You know, Jon and Arya. They'd be better off in schools in London. Arya can find some art classes or something to get her energy out in a positive way, or whatever those psychologists on daytime television say. Distract Jon with school and maybe you'll keep him out of the military."

"I'll mind you not to refer to my children as _troubled,_ Robert _,"_ Ned was red in the face and looked ready to punch his friend in the face, "my family is not a chess game. You can't just move the pieces around as it pleases you."

"You can feel what you do, Ned. But your family will be leaving Winterfell sooner than you think."

"And what does that mean?"

"Joffrey will propose to Sansa. Tomorrow night. And I doubt she'll turn him down."

"Fuck," Jon said.

"Fuck," Ned said.

"I know Joffrey can be a pain in all our arses. But he's had his mind set on this union for some time. And if anyone can put him in line, it's your Sansa. Besides, they're both eighteen. There's nothing we can do."

"I suppose you're right."

"Our families are already connected. They always have been. I might've been your brother at one time-,"

"You _are_ my brother, Robert."

"It's a nice sentiment, Ned. But a real brother would do this for me. I need you."

Ned sighed, and there were murmurs of further conversation, but Jon had already walked away from his window.

Change was coming to Winterfell Hall, whether the Starks were ready for it or not.

 **A/N: Okay I hope that wasn't terrible! Please leave reviews and let me know what you thought or what you'd like to see in the future! Also just FYI this takes place in modern day but it's still kind of an AU world because politics and parliament etc. work differently. So if you're like "wait that isn't how parliament works?" it's because I've had to sort of change it to make it work for Game of Thrones plots, if that makes sense. So things will be a little weird. But it in a good way, I hope!**


	2. This is Chapter Two

**Come Only Baby, This Is Not the End of the World**

 **This is Chapter Two**

 **Okay let's hope this chapter is to your liking! Decided to split the first chapter into two because 7K words is a bit long. Woops!**

 _Dany_

Dany felt like a fool wearing such a tight dress, even if the colour was flattering on her. She was nursing a pearl clutch at her side.

"Well we ought to go in," Viserys decided. The pair were standing out in front of a little Spanish cafe. Drogo had asked them to meet there, much to Viserys' surprise and distaste. He'd expected something grander.

Dany admired the quaint little flowerbeds under the windows, and the way the pink awning waved in the wind. But it didn't calm her nerves at all.

"Hello yes, we're the Targaryens," Viserys simply said as he greeted the waitress.

"Party of two?"

"No…we're supposed to be joining someone. Drogo Dothrak?" Dany's brother nearly hissed this comment. She didn't know why he always expected recognition in the streets. The Targaryens siblings hadn't been of interest to the public or the press in quite some time. It had been nineteen years since the scandal with their late father, and they'd fled England.

"My friends, this way," an older, handsome English gentleman greeted the Targaryens, gesturing for them to follow him. Dany had a feeling he appeared a little older than he was. He had lines on his face, as well as strawberry blonde whiskers. His eyes were kind. This _did_ make Dany feel slightly more at ease.

They had a table at a window. Before they sat, the man introduced himself as Jorah Mormont, Drogo's translator and assistant. Jorah and Dany sat at one table with Drogo, while Viserys was sat at a table nearby with a long-legged brunette named Doreah. Viserys was offended at first, but Dany watched Doreah stroke Viserys' leg with her own, under the table. Viserys was now distracted. A dragon he might be, but he was not a man to focus on more than one thing at a time. It seemed flirtation took precedent over Dany's nerves at present.

Drogo was a big man. That was the first thing to be said. He was more than twice Dany's height and made almost entirely of muscle. It was a wonder that he found a shirt to fit him. He wore a grey muscle shirt, and green cargo pants. It was hardly a formal ensemble, but he had such an impressive air about him; an invisible layer of intimidation surrounding him. One could hardly question his importance.

He barely spoke a word of English, and seemed to have a stubbornness about learning it.

"Do you like your steak?" Dany asked, trying to be pleasant. Jorah repeated her question to Drogo in his own language. Drogo nodded and continued to chew. Dany ate her salad in silence for a while. Jorah gave her a comforting smile.

They proceeded with this manner for some time. Dany would ask basic questions, and Jorah would translate. Drogo would grunt a short response. The conversation lulled again and Dany found herself drawing designs on her plate with the remains of her salad dressing. She looked over at Viserys. He was no longer playing footsie with Doreah, but rather looking intensely at their table. When he caught Dany's eye he gave her a stern look; a reminder of why she was there.

"Mr. Mormont…,"

"Please, Mr. Mormont is my father," Jorah laughed, "and that's much too formal."

"But calling you just Jorah seems…,"

"Then call me _Sir Jorah_ , if you must."

Dany blushed but smiled all the same.

"Well Sir Jorah, I am sorry to become so assertive, but I feel as though now is the time that I get some real answers out of Drogo. I want to know…what does he see in our union? What can I expect from him? What are his plans? I want to make sure our values and goals are aligned before we go any further, I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, my dear."

Sir Jorah turned to Drogo and quickly translated. Drogo turned his gaze directly to Dany for the first time in the night. He had a smile on his face, which startled Dany. It wasn't as innocent as Sir Jorah's smiles. It was almost a smirk, but with more warmth than Viserys' smiles. It was playful.

"Drogo says that first and foremost, he is enchanted by your beauty. You see, he has had a number of suitors, but you are the first who has affected him so. He believes that you will make a good wife, as well as a mother to his children in time. He wants a woman of strength who can be there for him, but also live her own life. He will be busy with his duties to the military and his people, after all. But he thinks you could be happy with him."

Dany considered this. She wasn't sure she was ready to start a family just yet, but the idea of a home; a place where she belonged, warmed her heart. She had lived her life too long at the command of others. It was time for her to start her own life.

She now spoke directly to Drogo, though she knew he wouldn't understand her words.

"I appreciate that. But I must ask…the reason my brother and I sought you out for this connection is because we think you can help us. My brother and I are the children of Aerys Targaryen. He was the Prime Minister of England almost twenty years ago, and he was wrongfully killed. Now a traitor rules the country. Viserys should be Prime Minister. He shouldn't be hiding his days out in Spain. And I support him. I want to go home someday. Will you help us with this? We will take whatever we can get."

"Drogo says that he has no shame when he tells you that he cares little for the matters of the English. He barely cares for what happens in Spain. His loyalty and first concern is with his people: the Dothraki. But he admires your passion. So if you will have his hand in marriage, he will do what he can to help you. He will support your brother financially. He will find him a job somewhere with the Spanish government. Eventually he will have the credentials to get himself back to England and begin his campaign for Prime Minister."

Dany pushed her salad plate away from her, sat back in her chair and sighed. This was a big decision. Probably the biggest one she'd ever have to make.

"What do you think, Daenerys?"

"Do you believe he is genuine, Sir Jorah?" Dany nearly whispered, though she knew Drogo couldn't comprehend her, "I am putting my entire future on the line here. Mine and my brother's. It's very important to the both of us that he return to England. It's where he belongs. I want your advice, Sir Jorah, if you'll give it…"

"It's not my place to say, dear. I come from your home country of England, where most would raise an eyebrow to an arranged marriage. But I believe that Drogo is a good man. I have worked with him for some time. He shares your brother's passion for getting what he wants, so I'm sure that will be nothing new to you. I'm sure he wouldn't hurt you."

"Do you think with work and dedication, we could have a happy marriage?"

Jorah hesitated.

"Sometimes that is not enough…but sometimes it is. You'll know the answer in your heart."

"And what about his vows to help my brother? Viserys might not be happy to hear that Drogo will start him with the Spanish government."

"Your brother must be patient. Small steps are the best steps. And this is your first step, Daenerys. What will you do?"

Drogo looked at Jorah for direction, having been neglected from the conversation. Jorah gave a stiff nod, and Drogo reached into his pocket. He produced a little velvet box. Dany had a pretty good idea what was in it. She looked back at Viserys for confirmation. His eyes blazed. She knew he wasn't happy that she would marry, and yet he was probably overjoyed that they were making this connection.

Dany nodded and Drogo slipped the ring on her finger.

 _Sansa_

Sansa tried her best to be quiet as she tiptoed out of her room that night. Arya was snoring as usual, and Myrcella was sleeping soundly, although it was probably the only time in her life that she'd slept on an inflatable mattress. The daughter of the Prime Minster was sixteen- Arya's age. She had golden hair like her mother and a pretty heart-shaped face. Sansa had spent most of her life wishing she were blonde, but somehow seeing Myrcella sleeping, looking like a little doll, made her proud of her dark red hair. It set her apart.

She didn't close the door all the way on her way out, and she walked softly down the spiral staircase that lead to the main level of the house. Jaime and Tyrion Lannister, Cersei's brothers, had arrived an hour after dinner. They were sleeping in the guest room- Theon's bedroom.

Tyrion was a man of wit and sarcasm, who liked to try and charm everyone (particularly the women) with his words. The only one of the Starks who seemed to appreciate him was Jon. Jaime Lannister was handsome. If only he were younger, Sansa thought. Not that Joffrey wasn't her prince charming. She could simply see that he got his good looks from his uncle too. In fact, Joffrey seemed like the perfect Lannister model. He didn't have much of his father in him at all. Thank God, Sansa found herself thinking.

Sansa turned the corner and entered the kitchen. She opened up the fridge and grabbed a carton of almond milk.

"Hello, little bird."  
Sansa held back a scream. From the light of the fridge she could see a figure sitting at the kitchen table. She shut the door, took a step back, and turned the kitchen light on.

"No need to be alarmed. I'm Sandor Clegane. I serve the Baratheons."

Sansa held a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself. Sandor was a rather tall man. He looked strong and well-built, although not as big as she'd heard he was. He must have been in his mid to late 30s, and he had brown hair and a beard. One side of his face was burned severely; a red, patchy mess of skin. There was no eyebrow on that side of his face. He scared her, but he wasn't hideous. He wasn't handsome, but he had a strong, solemn dark energy about him. Something that intrigued Sansa just as much as it scared her.

"I apologize, Sir. I didn't know you were there."

"No need to call me Sir. Anyway, I guess I should have announced myself."

"Are you just going to sit there in the dark, all night?"

Sansa couldn't help but forget her manners. She opened up a cupboard and took out a glass.

"It's my job."

Sansa hardly thought the role of security guard involved sitting in a stranger's kitchen in the dark, but it didn't seem Sandor was one for words. Besides, she didn't really want to talk to him. She just wanted to sit in silence and drink her milk. It helped her sleep, especially on nights when she was anxious like this. She'd been thinking about her future, and Joffrey, and her parents, and Jon Arryn's death, and what it meant for the country. She'd also been thinking about her role in the universe. It was just one of those nights.

"Would you like a glass of milk, Sir?"

"It's not Sir. And sure."

Sansa poured out two glasses of almond milk, and passed the second glass to Sandor at the table. She leaned against the kitchen counter. They drank in silence for some time.

"What the fuck was that?" Sandor finally said, having finished his glass.

"Almond milk. I'm vegan."

"You're what now?"

"I don't drink or eat any animal products."

"I see."

Sansa didn't know why but she poured another glass for her and Sandor and they stayed there together for some time before she finally went back to sleep. She knew tomorrow would be a big day.

 _Dany_

Dany had never really thought of her wedding day. She'd always expected to just spend her life at Visery's side. After all, they'd been together for so long. She hadn't had a mother to fill her head with wedding bells and the sounds of cans clattering at the back of a vehicle saying "just married". She hadn't had a father to scrutinize her choice of partner and be overprotective. All she had was this idea Viserys had come up with one day: Dany would marry a man of some importance so they could forge a strong connection in order to return to England and get what they wanted.

But until now the plan had seemed very hypothetical. Even after the engagement ring was on her finger, it didn't feel real. Drogo seemed like an interesting man. He intimidated her, but he didn't seem like a bad man. She liked what he'd said about them starting a family and having a home. She liked the idea of him helping Viserys out. But other than that, he was a man she'd met only yesterday. She couldn't help but think what Jorah had said about marriage being more than work and dedication. Was it important that she love him before she committed? She supposed she didn't have time to think of that.

They wasted no time. They were to be married _today_. The engagement ring was only a gesture really. The wedding ring would be on her finger before the day was over. Dany thought that a quick court wedding would be more than sufficient, but Viserys insisted they held a ceremony. That man would never turn down an opportunity for publicity.

"Dany?" There was a knock on the door and Doreah entered. Her Maid of Honour was wearing a sleek silk dress that was deep blue. It matched her eyes. Doreah was only Dany's Maid of Honour because Dany knew no one else. And Dany was almost certain Doreah was now sleeping with Viserys. But there wasn't much Dany could do about that.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

Dany was sitting in front of a makeup desk and mirror. She was in one of the many rooms in Drogo's Spanish estate. Irri and the other assistants Drogo had hired for Dany had done her makeup. On her request, they'd left her fairly natural. Just a simple, light eyeshadow look, a bit of pink blush, and a shimmy nude lipstick. Even with such little makeup on, Dany looked at her reflection and hardly knew herself. She was a _bride_. What did that mean, truly?

"Shall we go out to the backyard? The minister is waiting. So is your husband."

 _He's not my husband yet_ , Dany thought, but she nodded.

"Is Sir Jorah there?"

"Certainly he is. So are a few members of the press. Your brother is happy with that," Doreah smirked as if they were two naughty sisters, instead of complete strangers both entering into a strange and foreign situation.

She took Doreah's hand.

 _Jon_

The Starks barely had room for everyone at the dinner table. Robert sat at one end, a King in his mind, and Ned at the other. Cersei and Joffrey sat at either side of Robert, Catelyn and Robb were beside Ned. Jaime and Tyrion were next to Cersei and Sansa was between Joffrey and Robb.

Arya, Myrcella, Tommen, Bran, and Rickon sat a table in the kitchen. Arya complained that she'd been sat at the "kid's table". Ned argued that it was just extra seating, but it really was the table for those who weren't directly involved in the night's impending events. Jon new very well that Joffrey would propose to Sansa at any moment. The adults all needed to be there to assure and congratulate her. To make sure she made the "right" decision. Although there was hardly any doubt Sansa would turn him down.

Theon and Osha served the meals. In between courses, they talked and ate outside on the patio. Sandor sat with them, although he didn't join their conversations. Jon had been offered at the "not-kid's-kid's-table". Insulted by Catelyn's treatment of him as usual, Jon chose to eat outside with the servants.

There had been laughter and loud chatter coming out of the dining room during the main meal. Suddenly the room went quiet. Jon wished he were in there when it happened. He wished he could see the surprise on Sansa's face. The disappoint on Catelyn and Ned's faces. The Anger on Arya's. The smugness of Cersei. The pride of Robert. The amusement of Tyrion. The joy of Myrcella and Tommen. The overprotective brother look that Robb would go for. The indifference of Bran. Jon would miss all those people in there, with their dangerous emotions tousled about. He was always on the verge. Too attached not to care, but pushed away so he couldn't be a part of it. It made him sadder than he'd realized.

There was a round of applause and chatter again coming from the dining room. Osha leaned in to Jon and Theon.

"That'll be Sansa engaged to Joffrey, then," she said knowingly.

Theon blushed brightly and frowned. The stupid git was in love with Jon's sister.

"Yeah," Jon said. Out of curiosity, he had a look at the Hound's face. It was blank. Jon wished he could be that uninterested.

"Well now! Looks like I haven't arrived _too_ late to the party."

Jon turned around and found himself grinning as his Uncle Benjen approached their patio table. He had some gifts in his arm which he dropped on the table for later. He gave his nephew a firm hug and a clap on the back.

"Good God, man. You're almost taller than me now. Where's the rest of the family?"

"Inside at dinner. Sansa's just got engaged to Joffrey."  
"Too bad," Benjen said simply. No one there disagreed with him.

"Do you think we could have a word, Jon?"

"We better clear dinner and get dessert out," Osha elbowed Theon in his side, "C'mon, Sandor, you help us."

Sandor Clegane didn't seem like the type who would help serve dessert, but he joined them inside nonetheless, leaving Jon and Benjen alone.

"Your father texted me last night. He says you're still adamant about joining the army. The fuck's that about?"

Benjen was a lieutenant himself, having served many years in the British army. But Benjen had always been protective of Jon. He was the closest thing he had to a child. Though he spoiled his nieces and nephews rotten, he had a soft spot for Jon, which Jon never understood. He appreciate it, of course, considering the treatment he received from Catelyn. Sure, Robb and him were close, and he was adored by Arya and the younger siblings. But Sansa still acted unsure around Jon, and Catelyn encouraged this behaviour. She created an environment where he was always a stranger in his own home.

"I want to do something. I can't keep sitting here strumming away on my guitar, getting nowhere. Besides, it's not fair to them," Jon referred to his father and Catelyn, "I don't pay any rent and I don't contribute to anything. I know they wish I were going to school, but that's not happening. Might as well let Theon have my side of the room. I could be helpful somewhere else, you know?"  
Benjen sighed.

"I respect your thought process, Jon. But dedicated yourself to the military is a serious commitment. You've got to think it through. Don't just do it to escape. You should be able to live your life. Don't worry about Catelyn or even Ned. Just do what _you_ want to do."

"But I _want_ to join the army."

Benjen opened his mouth to say something more when there was a shriek from inside. It was Catelyn, soon joined by shouts and cries from others.

"Oh Bran!" Catelyn sobbed, and Jon feared the worst. He knew Benjen was right. He could never be rid of this damn family. The Starks would be around until the end of the world, and he would be at their side.


End file.
